When I die, the children will probably argue over who gets my boots. No they're fine,' paid and made my escape.

They're a size too big anyway because Sheila wasn't with me when I bought them. Martens, more laces, but they're still covered with mud from the last Glastonbury festival and lead a quiet lonely life outside the kitchen door. These things will pass though, the dog shit sooner than the drawing pin. There's a drawing pin stuck in the bottom of the left boot also and there is, I'm afraid, dried dog shit down there as well. A little water comes in when it's wet but not much. Some of the stitching is awry and there is a centimetre long cut on the right boot where my toe-nail has slashed it's way through the leather. I'm still wearing the black ones I bought in Ipswich six or seven years ago. This morning she's wearing the dark greens. Martens: two cherry reds, one with steel toe-caps, one without, a light green and a dark green and a purple. She knows that I like shopping about as much as I like flying ie. I bought a conventional pair of black 12-holers in Ipswich. Martens, only making my move when I realised that I was the only member of the family who wasn't wearing a pair. But throughout the Seventies and Eighties I kinda yearned for a pair of Dr.

Not that I really believe in that sort of thing of course. Well, I remember reading as a boy that Virgos often limp and I'm a Virgo. They wore baseball boots or, in my case, a pair of corduroy lace-ups that caused such damage to my feet and such pain when I remember to do so, I still walk with a slight but interesting limp. Dr Martens Air Wair is a book about the history of the celebrated boots, published in 1999 and written by Martin Roach, with a one-page introduction by John Peel below:

Dr air wair